Fray-Adjacent

"Shut up." Xander was not talking to a frog. At all.

Okay, maybe it'd be more accurate to say Xander was not speaking to the frog. What? Jeremiah kept staring at him.

"Did Giles put you up to this? Dawn?" Xander had a unique definition of 'not speaking,' yes.

"Rideep?" //Cricketplz?//

"I'm so not having this discussion with you. And not just because I don't speak Frog."

Xander wasn't talking to a frog; he was putting a frog tank in the bedroom.
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[OOC: For the BFF]

If there were any squirrels still awake who'd been unlucky enough to get assigned a possession story?

There was a 3/4 full bottle of rum just outside the door to Apartment Negative Pie. Xander put it there somewhere between the call to Rory and the other one. That he totally didn't make.

Why Xander put the rum outside in the lobby had something to do with going through the first bottle too fast and hoping to save some of the second for after the call that he totally didn't make. Which was all well and good in theory, but completely dependent on the highly unlikely possibility that after he hung up from the call he totally didn't make, he'd remember there was a bottle outside his door. Or... a lobby outside his door.

Just sayin'.
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[Establishy. Though squirrels are welcome to steal the rum. Xander won't notice, trust me.]

Xander? Hiding out in his apartment channel-surfing and avoiding all contact with humanity instead of venturing out in public? After a meeting at the birthday party he and Peter had thrown for a certain advice-giving BFF had led directly to something he was unsuccessfully desperately avoiding thinking about, last night in the park?

Whyever would you think that?
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[OOC: He's not exactly expecting a phone call, but that's what this post is for.]

After a week full of encounters, some of them less awkward than others and at least one a lot less expected than others, Xander was alone.

More specifically, he was sitting alone at the small table in his kitchen, with a beer and a box.

The tv out in the den was playing something old enough to have a laugh track and familiar enough that he wasn't really listening to it. He'd just left it on for the noise.

You'd think he'd be out there watching, since it wasn't like he was doing anything else productive, like going through the box. He was just sitting there in the kitchen, slowly sipping his beer and flipping through the first thing he'd found packed at the top of the box: a photo album.
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[OOC: for a certain returning wayfarer, yis]

After checking to make sure that the lobby was still dry and there was a fresh supply of towels and hot coffee out there, Xander retreated to his apartment in the evening. Guzzling coffee and munching twinkies all day had left him craving some real, people-made food, so he had water boiling on the stove for pasta. Because he was still a guy. Who majored in construction.
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[OOC: For oh guess]

After sloshing out for some lunch and checking the outside of (Y)MCA to make sure the rising damp wasn't making its way into the apartments, Xander was sitting in the living room with his laptop, listening to the radio again, since the first run-through had mostly been obliterated from his memory by his momentary freakage at Broots' totally incorrect description of yesterday's TOTALLY NON-MAKING-OUT-FILLED events.

Freakage slightly less now that he noted the ongoing theme of 'squirrels gone wild' in last night's broadcast, but still.
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[OOC: For a phone call. ETA: and a visitor, la]

To: wrosenberg@councilofw.co.org.uk
From: purplefrog@yahoo.com
Subject: Five Most Recent Ways To Reassure Yourself That I am Actually In Fandom

1. I fixed a leak for a man named Moist.

2. Talking about the weather includes the words "pudding rain."

3. My ex-roommate isn't returning my calls because she's on another planet.

4. My ex-boyfriend is jailbait now drunk-dialed me last night to ask me about nose-cheese.

5. I WOKE UP SEE ATTACHMENT WTF.

love,
Xander

P.S. Whoever invented the underwire must die. Well, he's probably already dead, but you could bring him back, right?
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Attachments: omgwtfbbqiamagirl.jpg | noseriouslydidimentionwtf.jpg

[OOC: establishy; there'll be an open MCA office post in a bit.]

Xander was trying Isabel's number again - the twinkiephone had a pretty amazing range, after all, and he could hope - but just like the first time, it rang and rang, until at last it kicked over to voicemail. This time, though, he didn't leave a message, just thumbed the End Call button in frustration.

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[OOC: For Bridge]

This? Is the sound of Xander checking the voicemail he'd turned off when he walked into the clinic to see Bridge last night, and hadn't turned back on until after Bridge had checked out tonight. It's also the sound of the universe assuring Xander that not all of his premature gray hair will be caused by the same person. Just most.

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[ooc: Just establishy.]

That noise coming from Xander's apartment wasn't the rhythmic thumping of a head against a wall this time. It was the sound of a guy singing in the shower about ordinary days. Loudly. So loudly that he didn't hear the phone on the bathroom counter proving that Simon and Garfunkel made a really crappy counterpoint to Great Big Sea.

Until he stepped out, wiped the steam off the mirror, and had to fumble for the cell with wet fingers before it buzzed itself off the countertop.

Then there was an outgoing call.

Then came the thumping.

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[OOC: open for a specific call, but if anybody feels like dealing with him before then, he'll answer the door. He'll just be a basketcase.]